


Family Business

by DreamingPagan



Series: Happily Ever After with Kittens [2]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Fluff, Follows on from Out of the Rain to Shelter Himself, Gen, I'm constantly miffed by the fact that we don't have a dedicated tag for James McGraw, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, and I indulge in a pet theory of mine, anyway - have some fluff!, anyway this is tooth-rotting fluff, huh Ao3?, or rather just a headcanon, what if I'm writing pre-Flint fic?, wherein Admiral Hennessey comes to a realization, with family feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 19:05:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14118924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingPagan/pseuds/DreamingPagan
Summary: A glint of silver at James' collar before his promotion leads Admiral Hennessey to a startling realization.





	Family Business

**Author's Note:**

> I have massive headcanon on this. Go ahead and ask me on tumblr! Also, this is a continuation of the fic wherein James finds two adorable kittens and Alfred gets run over by an 18th century bus.

“Stand straight - let me have a look at you.”

James straightens, and Hennessey looks him up and down once.

“That’s well,” Hennessey says after a moment. “Yes - you’ll do nicely.”

The new uniform coat truly does look marvelous. The gold braid shines, the blue of the coat resplendent in the morning sunlight -

There is a glint of silver at James’ neck as he turns toward the window, and Hennessey frowns.

It catches Hennessey’s eye as he looks the lad up and down. He is being slightly foolish, really, thinking of him in that fashion still - the man in front of him is, after all, about to be a captain, not a boy at all, and yet -

Well. It has been many years since James was nine and running about Hennessey’s ship in need of both protection and guidance, but not so many that he cannot recall it. Whatever James has about his neck, though, is new. Hennessey reaches forward, adjusts his protegé’s shirt collar - and freezes.

The glint of silver resolves itself. He can feel the links of a fine chain beneath his fingertips, and on that chain - worn ‘round James’ neck, almost tucked away under his waistcoat is - is - 

It cannot be. It simply  _ cannot be. _

“Sir?” James is frowning. His brows have come together, and there is concern in his green eyes, and it still cannot  _ be _ -

“Where - lad, wherever did you find this pendant?” Hennessey breathes. His hand is still touching it, and dear God, it has been so many years but he knows it still - would know it anywhere, and it  _ must _ be, but how -?

“It was my mother’s.” There is a blush on James’ cheeks, and Hennessey does not need to see his hands to know that they are fidgeting behind his back - they are alike in that and how has he not understood before now, not seen, not  _ known _ -? 

“Your mother’s,” he repeats. Of course it is - 

Of course.

“It’s not really appropriate for a military function, I know,” James continues apologetically. “I never knew her. I thought, though, that today -” He stops. “It’s foolish,” he says, and it is all Hennessey can do to shake his head. 

He cannot think of another reason for Tamsyn to have given the boy that locket. It is too large a coincidence - too odd a thing for the woman he remembers to have given her son if he were really the offspring of Edward McGraw. She married him - Christ, she must have done, and had he been more perceptive than Hennessey, before he died? Had he known and simply said nothing? 

If James’ hair were another color, he might perhaps question. If the boy’s eyes were less green, if he did not have his true grandfather’s nose - if he did not know James’ exact date of birth and where, precisely, he himself had been scarce months before.

The signs have all been there in front of his eyes and Hennessey cannot help but feel he is seeing them properly for the first time.

“No,” Hennessey croaks, and James frowns. 

“Sir?”

He is going to have to pull himself together, for now at least. He takes a deep breath, and straightens, then reaches out once more and tucks the pendant back into James’ uniform.

“It isn’t foolish,” he says. “Not anything of the kind. I am certain -” He can feel his breath hitch again. “I am certain she would be as proud of you as I am,” he finishes. James smiles, startled, and Hennessey feels the corners of his own mouth lift in response. 

“I am proud of you, James Edward McGraw,” he reiterates, and if his voice shakes a bit, he is certain he can be forgiven that much. His hands are shaking, and he tucks them behind himself “There are things I need to tell you - I should like to explain -”

“Admiral? Sirs - ” 

There is not, Hennessey thinks, enough time. The open door and nervous servant behind them proves that. He looks over James’ shoulder and nods to the man.

“We will be there directly,” he answers, and the door closes again.

“Well,” he says, and smiles at James. “It will have to wait. Come along,  _ Captain  _ McGraw.” 

He reaches out and touches James’ shoulders - grasps them fiercely, then lets go, and strides toward the door.

The knowledge that has just changed his world will have to wait. He would not ruin his son’s promotion ceremony for the world.

****************************************************************

When the ceremony is over, Hennessey thinks, he is going to tell James about his mother. 

He can recall as clearly as if it had been yesterday the day that he had given her that locket. It’s a simple bit of jewelry - a simple thing of silver with a bit of enamel on the front, sporting nothing more complicated than a blue stem of flowers. Hennessey had been quite nearly poor as a church mouse in those days - he recalls them well. 

_ “They don’t match your eyes,” he had apologized. “I wanted to find one that would, but -” _

_ “They match yours instead.”  _

She had laughed. He recalls that best - her smile, so very like her son’s, and the blonde hair James does not share with her. Tamsyn had had a smile that had knocked him quite off his feet, and he had thought - 

Well. It does not matter now what he thought. He knows himself better now - in all ways, and knows himself too for a fool, and perhaps, just perhaps, Tamsyn loved either her son or himself or both better than he had thought, that his foolishness has been so mitigated by seeming fate. 

He wonders, now, what happened to her. He is aware that James was raised by Tamsyn’s father-in-law - how had the boy come to be in Darby McGraw’s care? He has never asked, and his son has never volunteered the information - perhaps, when Hennessey has sorted all this out, he will ask him finally. Perhaps.

For now, though - the ceremony is over. James breaks form, the blank officer’s mask breaking, and there - there is the boy Hennessey raised, and coming to greet him -

“Well done, James,” Thomas Hamilton praises, and his wife, the new Lady Ashbourne, beams with what Hennessey knows to be pride and joy. 

“Well and truly deserved,” she tells him. “And my haven’t you cleaned up nicely for the occasion! You’ll have to be careful, Captain, or you’ll walk away from here with both a promotion and a wife!”

“You’re spoken for, darling,” Thomas says dryly, and she arches a brow. 

“Indeed I am,” she answers. “Le- goodness. It’s going to take some time to become acquainted with your new title. James - I would very much like it if you would escort me to dinner tonight, as my husband is being a jealous bore. He knows perfectly well I’ve no intention of indulging him in these little fits.” She grins at Thomas, and then kisses his brow, and James grins at the pair of them. 

“I would love to, Lady Hamilton-” he starts, and Hennessey steps forward. 

He has had his reservations about the Hamiltons - and more particularly, about their relationship with James. They are all well aware - he can see it in the way that Thomas tenses the slightest bit, and in the way that Miranda reaches out a hand to touch James’ sleeve, as if to emphasize once again that he is cared for. He cannot deny that the sight warms his heart. The past several months have gone a long way toward assuaging his doubts - from the way that the Hamiltons perhaps unconsciously protect Hennessey’s son to the small touches and gestures of affection he has seen them exchange with both James and one another when they are able. Then too, there is the simple fact that neither Lord or Lady Ashbourne are so frivolous as he had supposed. They are being remarkably careful, as he had been afraid they were not capable of, and tonight is no different.  They have done well, and against his better instincts, he has begun to trust them now. He knows very well that they would like the evening with James. Under other circumstances, he would give it to them gladly, but he must be certain to stake his own claim, this time - there is a conversation he must have with James, and he has no mind to put that conversation off. It has been twenty-three years too long as it is.

“I am afraid I must disappoint you, Lady Hamilton,” he intervenes. “I’m certain James would be happy to escort you and give your husband something to think on,” he coughs, “but I’m afraid I have a matter I must discuss with him privately. I shall feed him well and then send him along home, never fear.” 

“Sir -” James starts to say, and Hennessey shoots him a look - not of command, but a plea, and James stops, startled. “I - apologize, Thomas, Miranda - it appears to be urgent.” 

“Very,” Hennessey says. “Allow me this indulgence, at least - I do believe I’ve earned the right.” Both nobles appear somewhat startled, but, to Hennessey’s surprise, it is Thomas who turns a speculating eye toward him and seems to come to a conclusion all his own. 

“Alright then,” he says. “James - we’ll see you later. I do believe you’re owed a drink or five, don’t you?” 

“I am,” James answers with a smile. “I’ll have to hope that you’ve chosen a decent public house. Oh don’t look so surprised, I know perfectly well what you’re planning for tonight.” 

Miranda rolls her eyes and smiles.

“He’s done nothing but talk of it for a month,” she says. “You could scarcely have failed to notice.”

“Miranda!” Thomas protests - and Hennessey takes the opportunity to lay his arm across James’ back and steer him toward the door.

“It sounds as though you’ve quite the night ahead of you,” he says. “Time to get some food into you and be certain you’re not caught with your trousers down and a wine glass in your hand.” 

*********************************************************************

The carriage ride home is spent in idle chat. They are not silent, and yet Hennessey is certain that if asked, he could no more recall the content of that particular conversation than he could the exact contents of the ship’s cargo on his first voyage as a midshipman. He is too tense - he wants to tell James then and there, but the timing is wrong and the setting too. He cannot - not yet.

The truth of it, Hennessey thinks, is that he is more than a touch frightened. He has raised the boy. He has done right by him, and yet there are so many ways that James might take this particular revelation amiss. He cannot get this wrong - he cannot bear to, and so he waits, until dinner is served and eaten, and James has finished regaling him with the latest tales from his travels among the upper crust. Hennessey listens with half an ear - he is more interested in observing his son’s mannerisms properly, cataloging tiny details. He has noticed before that he and James share certain gestures, certain small habits, and now -

“Sir - I hope you’ll forgive me for pointing it out, but -” James starts and then stops. “Are you well?” he asks at last, and Hennessey startles out of his contemplations to focus again on his son’s face.

“My apologies,” he says, once he’s regathered his wits. 

“I asked whether you’re alright,” James says, and Hennessey smiles.    
  


“I’m fine. I realize I’ve - been preoccupied.” 

James frowns. 

“Sir - if this is about the locket -” he starts, and Hennessey feels his heart skip a beat. 

“It is,” he manages to say, and James’ frown deepens.

“I don’t quite take your meaning,” he says. Hennessey closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. “If it’s upset you somehow -” James starts, tone rather tentative, and Hennessey blows the breath out in a near laugh, more hysteric in nature than natural, and opens his eyes.

“You might say that,” he says. James’ hand goes to his neck, and Hennessey reaches out, and grasps hold of it, holding onto it the way he has not done in several years once the hand is lowered to the table.

“No,” he says. “Don’t take it off. I’ve no desire to see you lose it - none at all.” He takes another deep breath, and searches for words. “How the hell do I say it?” he mutters nearly under his breath, and James leans forward.

“This all started when you saw the necklace,” James says. “I mentioned my mother and you looked as though you’d seen a ghost.”

The words are quiet. He knows. He must know - it is in his face, in the furrow between his brows, and the look of dawning realization in his eyes. He knows - Hennessey may as well confess.

“Yes,” Hennessey says, “I knew her.” 

The words hang in the air. They seem to chime and clang, somehow - certainly, they are the start of what it is that Hennessey must say, and to his own ears, they sound momentous. James, too, seems to be somewhat thunderstruck. He sits, looking at Hennessey, and Hennessey cannot quite decipher the emotion on his face. 

“James?” he asks, and James continues to stare at him. 

“You knew my mother,” he says thickly. “I didn’t know her, but you did. Did you have any idea before today?” 

He does not ask the obvious question. He does not have to - Hennessey can hear it in his voice. He inhales, and then exhales slowly.

“I had no idea,” he answers in a surprisingly steady tone, “until this morning. Whatever you might think of me, I did not take you in out of obligation -”

“What did she look like?” 

James interrupts him. He’s sitting forward now - leaning toward Hennessey, dinner forgotten entirely, napkin placed on the table, green eyes on fire with curiosity. “Where did she come from? Did she look anything like me, or -?”

Hennessey shakes his head. 

“No, I’m afraid she resembled you only about the eyes and mouth. She was blonde, and very fair - I’m afraid you’ve no one to blame for the freckles that I can name.” He stops. James is frowning mightily, lips drawn tightly together, quite obviously confused. He won’t be, not for long. 

“Granddad always said I looked like my mother’s side of the family,” he murmurs. “I didn’t resemble him in the slightest and he always said I must take after her, but if I look nothing like her either -”

“It would be difficult for your grandfather to have had any notion who you resemble,” Hennessey says quietly, cutting him off. “I do not recall him well, but I believe I remember the features of his eldest son. Edward McGraw was a fine, upstanding man with a good head on his shoulders - but you are right, you look nothing like him.” 

James sits back, frustrated. 

“Who the hell do I look like?” he asks, and Hennessey takes a deep breath. 

“You were born, were you not, in May of 1673?”

James nods. 

“Yes. I’m not sure what relevance -”

“Allow me to finish. You were born in the spring of the year, to Tamsyn McGraw, née Penprase. You’ve your mother’s green eyes, the same mischievous grin that several generations of your family have passed onward from mother to son to daughter to son again, and you’re left perplexed because you’ve inherited somewhere in the mix red hair which has shown up perhaps thrice on your mother’s side of the family but never on your purported father’s.” He stops, and takes another breath - and then, shaking, reaches forward to grasp James’ hands in his own. “You’ve also inherited a pair of eyebrows, a nose, and the stubborn chin that my father would claim is your Irish roots showing themselves. One day quite soon, I am going to take you to meet him, and then he can have what will no doubt be a very satisfying laugh at my foolishness, and your grandmother may cry over you and cuff me round the ear before crying over me as well.” 

There it is. He’s said it - it is up to James, now, to piece it all together. He will give the lad a moment -

It does not take as long as that.

“You’re -” James starts in a strangled tone. Hennessey nods. 

“You were born approximately six months after the last time I was in contact with your mother, and it has taken me all these years to see the truth when it stood in front of me. I may not have known but -” He stops, and swallows hard, and when he can speak again, he can hear his voice tremble. “I would like to think I’ve done right by you all the same.”

“You’ve -” James starts, and then stops. “You took me in - raised me all this time, and you didn’t even know that you were - that you’re -”

“If you will have me,” Hennessey answers, his hands tightening minutely around James’. “I realize it’s a shock, but -” He looks at the look on his son’s face, and gives a tiny smile. “I’m your father.” 

The words feel like confession and announcement and joyous relief all at once, and he cannot help but allow his lips to twitch upward further as he looks at James’ almost slack-mouthed astonishment.

“You - and my mother -” James continues, and Hennessey winces. 

“It was a long time ago. There were certain - truths, that I did not know about myself -”

“I’m your son. I’m - not an orphan.” 

James still sounds blown away at the revelation, and Hennessey cannot say that he does not understand - or share the feeling. 

“I did not know,” Hennessey says softly. “When I first met you I -  _ ulp!” _

James’ grip, Hennessey thinks with a touch of surprise, has gotten much firmer. The thought is the first to cross his mind, somewhat disconnected. His son’s arms are closed around him, his head suddenly buried in Hennessey’s shoulder, and the difference might, just possibly, have something to do with the fact that James has grown significantly since the last time he hugged Hennessey with such enthusiasm. Hennessey can’t quite restrain the small, relieved laugh that escapes him, nor does he feel the need to keep himself from returning the embrace with equal ferocity. He strokes the back of his son’s head, and holds him tight, and when they finally, finally pull apart again, each tries to ignore the tear tracks on the other’s cheeks.

“How would you like,” Hennessey asks, laughing a bit shakily, “to be known as an admiral’s son rather than a carpenter’s?”

James laughs, and then hugs him again.

********************************************************************

In the end, James decides to stay a McGraw. It’s easier, he reasons, to retain the name he has had all his life- easier, too, not to confuse all and sundry about him and to avoid the irritation of changing every piece of paperwork on file with her Majesty’s government and the Navy. There is, however, one small exception-a little difference, but an important one, he feels.

“James Eirnin McGraw!” Thomas exclaims, and James grins merrily. 

“Yes, darling?” he asks, and Thomas, sheet still clutched about his waist with one hand, hair still tousled from sleep, places his other hand on his hip.

“You taught her to do that, didn’t you?” 

James gives him his very most innocent expression, and looks up. 

“Taught whom to do what?” he enquires, and tries - tries oh so hard - not to snicker. It is 8 a.m., and Thomas is awake. The purring intruder currently winding around his feet is to blame in no small part, and James cannot bring himself to be remotely sorry. 

“That - invader of Morpheus’ temple just kneaded my head and purred so loudly I might have sworn I had quite a small lion in my bed rather than a housecat, and now she’s -” Thomas starts, and then seems to run out of steam. He rolls his eyes and flops, and James squawks as he narrowly misses the book James has been reading in landing in his lap. 

“You’re a menace,” Thomas declares dramatically, “the both of you.” He leans over and then kisses the bridge of James’ nose. “You’ve corrupted my cat. It’s obviously the effect of finding out that you’re a proper Naval brat and a second generation gentleman.” 

“Our dashing Captain has always been a gentleman,” Miranda interjects from the bedroom. “Thomas - come back to bed. Drag James back if you must - I’m getting cold.” 

They grin at each other.

“Well, you heard the lady,” James says. He starts to stand, and Thomas gives a yelp. 

“James!” he protests, and then gives another startled squeak as James picks him up, his arms locking around James’ neck, sheet falling away. He blushes, and then they laugh their way back into the bedroom. 


End file.
